Am I Fat?
by Zelda-FF
Summary: Poland brings up the simple question with Prussia, then wishes he hadn't even asked.  Fluff.  PrusPol.


Warning: FLUFF AHEAD. x_x Shameless, shameless, fluffy Prussia. u_u You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, blah, blah, blah.

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Poland awoke with a yawn and stretched his legs and arms out as far as they could reach in the rather large bed. He noticed the absence of a certain person when his hand felt cold bedcovers instead of a sleeping lover and he opened an eye curiously. The man sat up slowly, blinking then examining the room with both jade-colored eyes and finding the time to be a bit past noon. That was odd; usually his bedmate slept in far past that.

With a shrug, he picked up a magenta top from the floor, shook out the wrinkles, and slipped it over his head of mid-neck length hair. Ambling into the other room where he'd heard some voice advertising something or other in German, the blond presumed there had been some important program on. He passed the couch and its occupant to primp before the full-length mirror. He ran his fingers through pin-straight hair-though slightly ruffled from bedhead-and puckered his lips flirtingly at himself. Feliks was about to walk away when he noticed something.

He lifted his shirt back up to scrutinize his midsection in the mirror. The blond turned to the side, frowning at his nearly flat stomach in the reflection then poking at it. _Ugh, it's totally flabby! I really let myself go after the 1500's, didn't I?_ he lamented, frowning and pinching the flesh near his navel. _B-but a little pudge is cute…right?_ Poland let the fabric fall and cover his stomach again then turned to the other shirtless man in front of the television.

He plopped down on the opposite end of the couch, eyeing the football game uninterestedly for a moment before tilting his head to look into focused, unblinking red eyes. _He must like it…it's not like I'm overweight or whatever!_ Feliks' eyebrows furrowed at the distressing thought but continued to stare, waiting to be noticed and addressed by the avid Germany fan. He pouted after a minute of being completely ignored and shifted in his seat, leaning back against the armrest and raising his legs to rest his feet on the other's broad shoulder. His big toe (painted pink) poked a pale cheek, earning a grudging groan and crimson gaze.

"Could you not-" He noted the presence of cotton short-shorts. "-Well, at least you're not wearing a skirt this time," he sighed before sliding his attention back to the screen.

"_PRUSSIA!_" the Polish man screeched, startling the Prussian and forcing him to look back at his apparently furious companion. He bit his lip a little, desperately flicking his eyes back to the game-it looked like they were making a comeback-but tried to keep them on Poland; he knew he was in trouble when he was called by his ex-nation's name.

Satisfied, he retracted his legs and leaned forward, the harsh green glare softening into a very unfamiliar expression for the both of them. Prussia wasn't sure-after all, he was awesome and confident-but it looked something like insecurity. The feminine blond knelt on the couch beside Gilbert and wrapped his arms around the other's neck, averting his gaze as if embarrassed.

"Do…do you like, think I'm…uhm…_fat?_"

The light-haired male blinked. _He interrupted the game…for this?_ He barely repressed an exasperated sigh as his mischievous mind kicked in. _Gilbert, you have two choices here. One: Be the awesome boyfriend you are and tell him he's not. Or, you can screw with him and get revenge…_ It didn't take long for him to decide; he was going to have a little fun playing with the littler one's anxiety.

"Sorta." he poked at Feliks' stomach for effect. "I mean, you shove those paluszki things down your throat like it's my awesome five mete…" Prussia's derogative voice died off when he saw the look on his cute little boyfriend's face.

Poland's face had dropped completely, his eyes wide and his mouth wide open in shock. _He…he _totally_ did not just say that!_ The sardonic, sharp edge of his tone sent a disheartened chill through his body and he could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His face morphed into one of absolute loathing and anger-though he was still extremely distraught-and he pushed himself off Prussia, stalking into the kitchen, yelling behind him, "Y-you're a total jerk! L-like, go to hell!" From his shaking voice, it was apparent he was either crying or struggling not to.

The German let his head fall limp against the back of the couch in frustration; Feliks was absolutely impossible. _Shit. I can forget about tonight…and every other night. C'mon, Gil, you can fix this, think of something awesome!_ That, of course, wasn't difficult since all his thoughts were awesome, but he'd completely disregarded how sensitive the little brat could be. He huffed and returned his attention to the game, letting his own jaw fall when he saw the score. Spain had made I_three_/I goals while he was preoccupied! "_Verdammt!_ Neuer let in three goals!"

"I-if you care about him so much, then maybe, like, you should date _him_ instead!" Was the venom-filled retort.

His face brightened; he had just been given the perfect set-up. _He loves that cheesy girly shit, doesn't he?_ Gilbert stood, remorsefully abandoning the match, and snuck into the kitchen. He had to suppress a laugh when he saw the petit blond attempting to make himself a salad and grimacing at the ingredients. The day Feliks ate broccoli was the day he'd call himself a loser. With a smirk, he snaked his lanky arms around the other's waist from behind, provoking a surprised squeal and a small bout of thrashing.

"Now why would want to do that?" he hummed, bowing his head slightly to rest his chin on a dainty, almost feminine shoulder.

"Do _what_?" Poland snapped impatiently, working on his "healthy" meal intently.

"Date Neuer."

"Well, why not? At least _he_ isn't like, totally fat!" His emerald eyes threatened to water again and he hastily jabbed at his tear ducts with his fingers to hide his weakness from the silver-haired German.

Prussia sighed lightly, his exhale tickling Feliks' ear. "Yeah, he's probably buff and all-" He imagined his little crossdresser with rippling muscles and all but threw up at the thought. He'd rather have Feliks look like a fat Budha statue than a bodybuilder. "-but his skin's gotta be rough and dry, which is so not awesome."

His pale hands ghosted down Poland's smooth arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He gasped when they were slipped under the cotton t-shirt, running over his equally supple sides. Gilbert gently squeezed the blond's barely-there love handles and purred, "Personally, I'd want someone with soft skin and hair…" He buried his nose into the hair behind the Polish man's ear and inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of girly hair products making his heart flip. "…that smells like strawberries."

The feminine male felt himself blushing furiously at the suddenly affectionate attention. As much as he wanted to stay irritated at the man, he was again falling for Prussia's charming bullshitting. Despite the words' questionable legitimacy, a tiny smile made its way onto his face and he twirled in the taller's hold to face him. He hopelessly fought the wry smile twisted onto his pouty lips and glared playfully. "I, like, hate you."

The familiar, devilish grin materialized on the pale face above him and lean, yet surprisingly strong arms lifted him onto the counter. Feliks wrapped his arms around Gilbert in defeat and leaned down to meet him; he knew he'd completely lost and let a courser pair of lips press against his moisturized ones, those hands caressing his sides from beneath his shirt. Yet he couldn't help but feel self-conscious and pulled away from the tantalizing kiss, cheeks a rosy pink.

"Uh-uhm…like, you…you don't really think I'm, like…" he fumbled, gently removing the other's hands from his torso and tangling their fingers together anxiously. The blond looked up from his lap at the light squeeze Prussia gave, almost instant relief washing over him from the amused yet sweet pale expression.

"_Nein, liebe. _You're too skinny." he murmured, detaching a hand and ruffling the shorter's shiny, perfectly kept hair lightheartedly, "I know this awesome ice cream place, want to-"

"Totally!" Poland squealed happily, not even letting the other finish, hopping from the kitchen counter and pulling his boyfriend after him.

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A/N: FLUFFY PRUSSIA MAKES ME WANT TO THROW UP. D| xDDD It sounded cute when I was imagining it in my head, but it just reads so dumb. ;n; And such a rushed ending. ._. asdfghjkl Well it had to be done, there is like, NO PrusPol so here's something.

And for you silly Americans, football = SOCCER. I hope you caught that from the word 'goal'.


End file.
